


Treacherous Heart

by Dansnotavampire



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Blood Drinking, Dawnguard DLC, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Serious Injuries, Sharing a Bed, Soft shit!!, Tenderness, Thieves Guild, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 03:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18460604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dansnotavampire/pseuds/Dansnotavampire
Summary: The dragonborn left the thieves guild three months, two days, and six hours ago, for some secret, dangerous quest. Now... now she's back. And she's hurt. It's up to Brynjolf to save her.





	Treacherous Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is the softest, most indulgent shit I've ever written, despite my intention for it to be just unnecessarily horny. Also, there's blood drinking. That's it, that's the piece.
> 
> (Also, whilst Bryn might normally be a bit of a thot, 1. He's completely head over heels for the dragonborn 2. He would never touch a sleeping woman w/o her permission?? He's not that much of a garbage man.)

The Ragged Flagon was empty when Ainsel came back, except for Brynjolf. It'd been three months, two days, and approximately six hours since she had left him in charge of the guild, telling him about some dangerous quest she had to go on, but now… 

 

Now she had come back. Bryn's heart skipped a treacherous beat in his chest at the sight of her, leaning tiredly against the wall of the Ragged Flagon. She looked so tired, her movements stiff and slow, almost painful. 

 

Ainsel could hear his heart from across the tavern, echoing in her ears, humming through her veins, throbbing through her blistered skin. It was an altogether unpleasant feeling, the overpowering thirst that flooded her; the desire to pin the nord to the wall, bury her fangs in his neck, and drink until she could go outside without burning to a crisp. She held it back, although only barely. 

 

Her hands shook, with pain, with fatigue. 

 

“Are you alright, lass?” A barely-there note of concern coloured Brynjolf’s voice as he whispered across the room to her. Ainsel tried to speak her reply - to tell him that she was fine, he could go; he  _ should _ go, because it sure as hell wasn't safe with her around - but just the act of opening her mouth sent a sharp bolt of pain through the burns covering her face. At her uncharacteristic silence, he shoved himself from his seat and moved towards her, just in time to catch her in his arms as she collapsed. He lifted her limp form oh-so-carefully, held her to his chest like treasure,  like a bride . 

 

He shook that thought from his head - she wasn't his; she never could be, no matter how badly he wanted it. She was… she was strong, brave - a hero, even - and wiser than the wind; far too good for someone like him. He laid her unconscious form out on a bed - his bed, not that it mattered - and… 

 

Well. What he would  _ like  _ to have said is that he set about caring for her, in a professional and businesslike manner, but that would be a lie. The reality is that he spent the next ten minutes panicking, completely torn over what to do with her. She was obviously injured, he could tell that much just from how she had moved, but with the armour covering her body and the mask over her face, he could tell neither the cause nor the severity of it. Of course, the sensible reaction in that situation would be to remove her armour, but the lass was intensely private, rarely even removing her mask for more than a few seconds, and Brynjolf didn't want to risk breaking her trust unless it was absolutely necessary.

 

The heart-wrenching whine she let loose as she twitched in her sleep a few moments later made that decision for him; he couldn't stand to see her in this much pain, not when he could do something about it. He took the mask off first, and was suddenly very glad that he had, albeit a little sickened. Blisters covered her skin, cracked and oozing a horrific mixture of blood and pus, like someone had pushed her into a hot fire and held her there. They covered the lower left side of her face, jaw and lips and cheek, and crept down below her collar. With delicate fingers he unbuckled her cuirass and removed it, trying to avoid touching her skin. He then took out a knife and slid it under her shirt, slicing neatly through the cotton. It stuck as he tried to peel it a way, the drying pus from the blisters acting like glue. The same thing happened when, with trembling fingers, he repeated the action with the bands of cloth wrapped around her breasts. Thankfully, the burns - at least, that's what he assumed they were - stopped about halfway down her abdomen, and he had no need to disrobe her further.

 

He quickly adjusted the blankets in order to preserve her modesty, then retrieved alcohol and some bandages from the cupboard. He set about cleaning the burns, wiping away the blood, his normally light touch being made even lighter with a nauseating mixture of worry and care. Despite this, she still twitched with pain every time he touched her, a horrific grimace on her face betraying exactly how poorly she was sleeping. He dithered again over putting bandages on her once the wounds were clean - they were still weeping, and given where the bandages had been kept, they might not even be that clean. (Not to mention how much he would have to touch her, how much pain he might accidentally cause.)

 

But, still. Bandages were the most sensible idea at the time, and so - with trembling fingers and a nervous heartbeat - Brynjolf started to wrap the cloth around her bare flesh, softly murmuring to her as he went. 

 

Despite the tiredness that he felt, he didn't sleep when he was done. How could he, with Ainsel herself asleep in front of him, hurt as she was? She looked - she looked awful, frankly. The worst he had ever seen her, even worse than after Irkngthand, when she'd risen from the water, throat hoarse with rage and terror.

 

She looked even worse than she had in the nightmares that had plagued him after Mercer had said she was dead - even worse than in the ones after he discovered that  _ he  _ had been the one to try and kill her, and he couldn't blink without seeing her bleeding out, an angry, gaping maw of a wound running down her neck. 

 

Her burns covered the scar, thankfully. He wouldn't have been able to deal with that, too.

 

Delvin came in at some point, just stood there and observed the two of them, waiting a good ten minutes in silence before he spoke. “Is that…” 

 

“Ainsel?” Bryn answered, completing his sentence. “Aye, ‘tis.” 

 

Delvin's mouth opened and shut a few times as he tried to work out how to phrase his question. “What happened to her?” 

 

“I- I don't know.” 

 

And he really, truly didn't. Her skin was cold and pale, even greyer than normal - and of course, the blisters. He didn't even  _ want  _ to know what could cause a burn like that. 

 

“She'll be fine,” Delvin said, though it did nothing to assuage Brynjolf's fears. “She's tougher than the rest of us put together - she'll be up in a few hours, ready to cuff you round the ear for undressin’ her.” 

 

Brynjolf smiled wryly, and settled back into his seat. At Delvin's questioning eyebrow, he merely shook his head, and said “I'm waiting for the lass to wake up, Del. I need to know- I need  _ her _ to know that she's safe.” 

 

He nodded his understanding. “I'll tell the others to leave you alone, then.” 

 

And then he backed out, leaving Brynjolf alone in the room, Ainsel unconscious on the bed before him. 

 

A further four hours, and one bandage change later, Ainsel woke up. She shot upright, her spine ramrod straight as she reached for her weapons. Her eyes - her  _ amber  _ eyes, no longer a dark dunmer red, but in fact glowing - darted round the room as she tried to put everything together. 

 

Then her eyes landed on Brynjolf, and she stilled. Mouth open a fraction, she looked him over. “Bryn…” she murmured, as if still half asleep.

 

“Aye, lass?”  

 

“Bryn!” Her voice brightened for a brief second, and a rare, precious smile flit across her face, but it doesn't last. “Bryn, are you okay? What happened, you look - I didn't hurt you, did I?” 

 

He almost laughed. “Lass, I think you oughta be more worried about yourself.” 

 

It was only then that she looked down at herself, and moved the blankets away, wincing in pain. She was shirtless, the entire left side of her body covered in bandages - bandages that must have been the cause of the stiffness in her face. They were stained yellow with pus, and she dreaded to think about the horrific burns she knew they covered. 

 

Of course, her being covered in bandages meant exactly one thing - someone had taken care of her last night. Judging by the dark smudges under Brynjolf’s eyes, and the way he was currently avoiding looking at her, it had probably been him.  She stretched to cover herself again with the blankets, but it sent a sharp lance of pain all down her skin, and she collapsed back against the pillows. 

 

“Bryn?” she asked, “I know it must be torturous to look upon my naked tits for even a second, but could you deign to turn around and cover me with the blankets?” Her voice was tight with pain as she spoke, the humour in it failing to land. Brynjolf turned slightly, and with a deft motion, drew the blankets over her, his eyes fixed on her face. 

 

“Sorry for, uh, undressing ya, lass,” he said, an embarrassed hand creeping up to scratch the back of his neck. “There wasn't really anyone else I could ask around.” 

 

She cut him off before the already thick layer of awkward tension in the room became enough to suffocate them both. “Bryn, it's fine. You're - there's - ugh, fuck.” She paused, struggling to find the words. “I'm glad it was you, not someone else. I trust you.” 

 

He blinked, startled by her apparent honesty. “Damn, lass, what spell were you hit with?” 

 

“Nothing but my own idiocy, Bryn. I mean it; you're my friend - probably one of my best friends, actually - and I trust you. At least far enough that I don't think you would make a pass at me whilst I was unconscious.”  

 

“Wow, what an honour.” 

 

She gave a dry chuckle.  “Actually, yes, it is. You would be horrified at some of the things you see as a woman in this world.” 

 

Silence hung in the air for a steady beat before Brynjolf spoke. “If anyone tries that, lass, let me know, and I will-” 

 

“Bryn, it's fine. I'm a big girl now, I can handle myself.” 

 

He snorted. “Apparently you can't, actually, if the state you showed up in last night is anything to go by - nice to see you, by the way, how have the last  _ three fucking months  _ been?” He took a breath, calming his nerves - surely she had had a good reason for being gone so long; he needed to calm down. The room was silent for one, two, three beats of his heart, and he spoke again. “Just - what happened, lass?”

_ Fuck.  _ Ainsel had two choices here - tell him the truth, and watch as her closest friend (and, in another timeline, something more) tried to stake her, or cover up, and slowly lose him to a lack of trust and communication. 

 

She could still hear the thrum of his blood in his veins, and that made the decision for her. At least the stake would be a quick way to go. 

 

“I got caught in the sun, if you must know.” 

 

She watched as the wheels turned in Brynjolf’s mind, and he put together what she was getting at. “Lass,” he spoke - no, breathed, his voice so low as to be almost inaudible. “What are you saying?” He didn't want to believe it - he couldn't believe it, that she would stay away for so long just because of that - as if he wouldn't do anything to protect her, as if he hadn't almost died for her already. 

 

“I got turned, Bryn. It was my decision entirely, there's no need to exact your revenge - look, let me rest up for another day and I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow, it's fine. You've been doing a good enough job running the guild, have been since before I left, you'll be fine.” She grit her teeth, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to leak from her eyes. 

 

“No.” 

 

This time it was Ainsel's turn to be shocked. “What do you mean, no? I can't leave any earlier, not without blood, and I  _ never  _ want to ask that of my- of you, of any of you.” 

 

“I mean no, lass. No, you're not leaving. I'm not becoming guildmaster, you're not disappearing into the night, I'm not letting you fuck off in a state like this only to get yourself killed, Ainsel, is it that hard to understand that I care about you?” Bryn's voice crept up to a shout as he spoke, his eyes wet with unshed tears. There was a heavy pause before he spoke again, this time his voice a low whisper. “Do you know how terrified I was when I saw you last night? I could barely bandage you up with how bad I was shaking.” He reached over, and took her - thankfully uninjured - hand. “I'm not letting you leave me again.” 

 

His touch on her skin sent fire through her veins, his pulse echoing along her skin, sparking hunger inside her once again. “You might have to leave, Bryn, unless you want me to bite you,” she said. 

 

Instead of standing and leaving, like any man with more than two brain cells to knock together would, Brynjolf just grinned. (And it was  _ his  _ grin, lopsided and lascivious, a promise of thrilling dangers and even more thrilling rewards.) “Oh?” 

 

“And if you're not going to leave,” she ground out between her teeth, “then- actually, no. I'm not doing this unless you ask.” Her voice was hard as stone as she looked him in the eyes, leaving no room for argument. “You either tell me you want me to drink from you, or you leave, Brynjolf. Those are your choices.” 

 

His eyes traced over her face, the bandages covering it doing nothing to hide the fire in her eyes, the sharp cut of her cheekbones, the stubborn set of her jaw. She was  _ stunning _ in that moment - was always stunning, really, but the way she still cared, despite her obvious pain and desperation, that set his heart ablaze. 

 

By the nine - if the two of them had been anyone else, he might have said that he were in love.  

 

Instead, he held out his wrist. “Drink - I want you to drink from me.” 

 

Ainsel shifted to sit more upright, and asked, one more time, “Are you sure?” 

 

Brynjolf nodded. She wrapped a hand around his arm, and brought it to her mouth. Her tongue traced lightly over his pulse, and she bit down. 

 

It  _ hurt.  _ Not actually that much, but just enough to send a shiver along his spine, to set sparks racing over his skin. Ainsel's pupils were blown wide, her amber irises glowing with some kind of innate power. Blood stained the bandages on her face; her hair was a wild mess, fraying from its braids; the paint over her left eye was smudged. She was- she was  _ beautiful _ .  He almost couldn't believe that she was here, after three months, in  _ his  _ bed, with  _ his  _ blood in her mouth. 

 

But she was. 

 

After an interminable moment, she drew her fangs from him. Two small beads of blood bubbled up where they had been, and she drew her tongue over them, relishing the taste of iron and salt in her mouth. She fell back on the bed, a blissed-out expression on her face and a puff of breath escaping her mouth. 

 

“You okay now, lass?” 

 

She grinned. “Better than ever - and yourself?” 

 

He opened his mouth to reply, but it turned into a yawn. “Tired, apparently.” 

 

She snorted a laugh, and shuffled herself over on the bed, creating a space at her right side. “Come sleep,” she said, patting the space she'd made. “I don't bi- well, I  _ do  _ bite, obviously, but only if you ask.” 

 

Mindful of her burns, he slipped into the bed beside her. She laid her head on his chest, and could hear the staccato beat of his heart pounding at his ribs. “You're warm,” she murmured. “It's nice. Safe.” 

 

His hand ran through her hair, blunt fingers scraping along her scalp, and soon after, they fell asleep. 

 

(If they woke up hours later, legs intertwined and fingers linked, then… well, no one else needed to know about that.)  

* * *

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 80% of this is just my repressed bisexual feelings about touching women, lbr. Also my desire for emotional intimacy with anyone. And my vampire kink. 
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please leave kudos/comments! They keep me writing ^-^


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